


Trespasser's Return

by IvyM



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Continuation, Epilogue, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, PTSD, Post-Dragon Age: Inquisition, Trespasser compliant, iRex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-27 22:56:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22693672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IvyM/pseuds/IvyM
Summary: Happy Galantines' Day, Rexicorn!Set in a modern AU, this is the story of Trevelyan and Cullen after the war. Both are broken, physically and mentally, from what they have gone through, and they're not really handling it so well. Whilst Solas is still at large, Evie Trevelyan will never know true peace.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford
Comments: 2
Kudos: 2





	1. Sour Sanctuary

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Rexicorn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rexicorn/gifts).



Evie Trevelyan opened her eyes and immediately regretted it. Her head was pounding, her mouth felt dry, and even before she moved she felt like the bed was moving beneath her. With great effort she lifted her head from the pillow, then immediately regretted it. Not only did the movement make the world spin at an increased rate, but Evie felt a sharp roiling sensation in her stomach. Groaning, she forced herself to move; rolling off the bed and crawling across the floor. She barely made it to the toilet in the en suite in time to empty the mostly-liquid contents of her stomach in the bowl.

Three hours later Evie woke again, this time wincing with a new discomfort. The bathroom floor did not make for a comfortable bed. Rising shakily on her right arm, Evie went to support herself on her left, then found herself crashing back to the ground again. Tears sprung to her eyes as her sober mind kicked in. It would be funny if it wasn’t so awful; that she had more coordination and understanding of how to live without a limb when she was drunk, and seemingly couldn’t function when the alcohol haze had worn off.

She rose again, aware of her limitations this time. The scar-riddled stump of her left arm smarted where it had hit the ground, and there were strange tingles running up and down where her forearm and hand used to be.

After gulping down some water from the tap, Evie staggered back to the bedroom, fully intending on passing out once more, but the shrill call of the landline caught her attention. She paused on the landing, waiting for the phone to ring out, and blinking in surprise as it was answered.

“Yes?” the croaky voice suggested that Cullen was also feeling a little worse for wear after their heavy night. He swung into view, the receiver held to his ear, as he took a seat at the bottom of the stairs. Aware of Evie’s presence, he twisted sideways, glancing up at her as she gingerly sat on the top step, unashamedly eavesdropping.

“We’ve asked you not to call here,” Everything about Cullen Rutherford screamed ‘tired’. His hair was lank, hanging unwashed against his cheeks, there were bags under his red-rimmed eyes, and he had gained weight. Evie knew she had too. Their days of military training, lean meals, and constant activity had been left behind them. Instead they had night terrors, recurring flashbacks, the living nightmare of PTSD, survivor’s guilt, and endless waves of fear.

“With all due respect, ma’am, that is not our problem-” he sighed. “No you can’t talk to her.” Evie pulled herself to her feet and left the stairwell. She knew the routine, knew what the next play would be.

Sure enough, after Cullen had loudly returned the phone to its receiver, Evie’s mobile started to silently ring. The vibrations had been turned off, but Evie knew to watch it, and so the earnest flashing of the screen alerted her immediately to the incoming call.

“Don’t answer it, Evie,” Cullen advised as he reached the top of the stairs. “I’m making breakfast. We need something to eat, get our heads straight.”

Evie picked up the phone and accepted the call, switching swiftly to speakerphone to let Cullen listen in.

“Cass,” she greeted her former friend warily. “What this time? More debriefs? More blood tests? More psychotherapists?”

“Hello Evelyn,” Evie’s heart sank, that wasn’t the voice of Cass the friend, that was Lieutenant General Cassandra Pentaghast, in her most formal capacity. “I have sent through details of a job I think you should apply for.”

“I don’t want-”

“Please read them,” there was the slightly gentler tone Evie was used to. “You can’t hide out in the forest forever. You know you’re a target, you know he’s coming for you. Why make it easy? We need you, and we can give you more security than Cullen can.” At this, Evie looked up at Cullen, her tear-filled eyes meeting his fiery anger.

“Hang up,” he hissed.

“I can’t,” she whispered, not knowing whether she was talking to Cass, to Cullen, or to herself.

“I will call you again in a few days,” Cass finished abruptly before ending the call.

“Evie,” Cullen whispered, his voice heavy with more than just the effects of his hangover.

“What if she’s right?” she asked, her eyes fixed on the phone screen and the notification telling her she had half a dozen new emails. “What if he is still after me? What if we can’t fight him off when he comes?” Cullen’s lips parted, Evie knew he wanted to argue, to say that he would take care of her, but they both knew that wasn’t how it would go down.

“I’ll come with you,” he sighed.

“No,” Evie steeled her nerve, summoning the courage to say the words she had been composing in her head for the past two months. “You need to let me go. I’m scared, Cullen. I’m bloody terrified all the time. I look at you and I remember. You were the last thing I saw before they knocked me out, the first thing I saw when I woke. I can’t look at you without feeling that pain, without remembering the time when I was whole and unbroken, when I wasn’t afraid of every damn thing. I can’t stay here,” she sighed, taking a seat on the side of the bed. Her eyes were downcast, she couldn’t stand to look at him, to see what his reaction was. A silence stretched out between them.

“Say something,” Evie pleaded, finally raising her eyes and meeting his. Her lower lip was wobbling with the beginnings of a sob, but she managed to keep it under control.

“What is there to say?” he asked, his eyes glittering with unshed tears. “Doesn’t sound like I have much say in any of this.” He held her gaze for a split second, then broke it, shaking his head and pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes.

“I’m sorry,” Evie started.

“When will you leave?”

“I’m sure Cass would send an extraction team-” Evie’s mumbled wonderings were cut off by a harsh bark of a laugh from Cullen.

“An extraction team? Being here is so awful you need an emergency evac?”

“Yes,” Evie shot back, following Cullen’s lead in letting her anger rise. “Is that what you want me to say? You want me to tell you this is hell? That drinking myself to sleep every night is a million times worse than when we were out on the field facing death and maniacs trying to destroy civilisation? Yes - I need armed forces to drag me out of this trench we’ve dug and get me back to somewhere I can breathe again.”

Silence again, then Cullen moved. Still wearing the clothes he had slept in, and had worn the previous day, Cullen turned his back on her. His hands gripped the door frame as he rushed through it, either still a little drunk, or feeling the after effects of several weeks of binge drinking. Evie stayed on the edge of the bed, listening to the heavy footfalls on the stairs. A heavy, hollow pit seemed to form in her stomach as she heard Cullen moving about downstairs. She could see him in her head, grabbing a hoodie, a jacket to go over the top to block out the Scottish weather, and his boots. It was only as the door slammed shut that she allowed the tears to fall. Loud, painful sobs burst free from her mouth as she heard the car engine turn over, and the love of her life drove away from her.

Quickly, so as not to allow herself the chance to change her mind, Evie lifted her phone. Typing through tears, she replied to Cassandra’s email, requesting for someone to come collect her. A screenshot from Google Maps zoomed out just far enough to show the nearest town was all that was needed. It meant the safe house was made, but Evie knew Cullen could stay under the radar if that was what he wanted. Cass’s swift reply gave her ninety minutes until extraction, and a nearby car park in which to rendezvous. It helped, Evie thought bitterly as she stripped and climbed into the shower, to have a deadline. In ninety minutes she would be on her way to safety.

As the hot water cascaded down over her scarred and broken body Evie let her grief and fear out. Shaking sobs seemed to be drawn from her by the sanctity of the enclosed space; the noise lost beneath the sound of the shower.

Drained, and painfully sober, Evie pulled on the least dirty clothes she could find. The khaki military-issue jumper smelled of Cullen, although she was sure it had initially been hers. Their brief time of living together had quickly erased any barriers between them, and had initially consisted of shedding their clothes with a fervent urgency. Over the weeks the drinking had increased and the sex had decreased in both quality and quantity. Evie hugged the hoodie closer, breathing in the scent of his antiperspirant combined with an underlying odour of stale sweat. There wasn’t much else in the house that she had a strong attachment to, but still she eased her aching body around the upper floor, putting clothes and toiletries into a jute bag. She retrieved her passport, driving licence, bank cards, and what little money she had from the top drawer, then made her way downstairs.

Breakfast had been started; one piece of toast - now cold - stood in the toaster, another had been buttered and placed on a plate. Two cups of tea were set on a small tray, along with two glass tumblers of orange juice. Evie felt her eyes begin to tear again, but forced herself to look at the vodka bottle on the tray, two thirds of its contents gone. She placed her bag on the kitchen counter and drew closer to the tray. One of the tumblers was half-filled, as if Cullen had been drinking from it whilst preparing their breakfast. Evie lifted it to her lips and took a sip, wincing immediately from the generous helping of vodka. The untouched juice seemed to be straight orange juice, so Evie downed the glass, then filled it with water from the taps and swallowed that down too in the hope it might go some small way to combatting the pain that seemed to pulse through her head.

One of the two quick escape rucksacks had been taken from the hallway. Evie felt a weight fall from her shoulders. There was enough in the bag to last a week on the run, suggesting Cullen had no intention of returning soon.

Evie checked the time on her phone before pulling a sturdy pair of hiking boots on. Each boot was fastened quickly with velcro, bringing a spark of anger to vie with Evie’s grief. Of all the changes she had had to make since the war and the loss of her arm, it was the small things like tying her own shoes that had worn on her the most. Fresh wounds opened each time she was reminded of the physical and mental damage Solas Fenharel had inflicted upon her. Once a trusted colleague, a friend, he was now her enduring nightmare.

The car park was empty. Evie waited by the gate, ready to run should anything go awry. Her eyes stayed on the road entrance until she heard the unmistakable sound of helicopter rotors. It didn’t take Evie’s practiced eyes too long to spot the small black dot in the sky. The Airbus Dauphin approached painfully slowly. Evie hated the noise it was making, painfully aware that it could mask the sound of any of Solas’s people, that she could still be snatched away before it made ground. There would be army personnel on board, that much she was certain of, and they had probably already sighted her on their scanning equipment. It was this last thought that Evie clutched on to. Even if there were people in the woodlands heading toward her, they would take her alive and the army were almost there. Her breathing slowed to its normal rate, and she felt a tightness in her chest start to life, even before she had really registered it was there. Anxiety had been her default state for so long she no longer recognised its approach until she was drowning in it.

The dark navy Dauphin touched down on the gritty surface of the car park, kicking a small cloud of dust into the air. The rear door opened and an armed man jumped out, beckoning her to come over. Evie felt her mouth drop open as she recognised the people glancing out behind him. Dipping her head and clutching her bag to her side, Evie jogged toward the helicopter and allowed herself to be patted down, submitting her bag to the lifted in to the rear compartment.

Unlike the extraction helicopter she owed her life to, this one had passenger seats. Two rows of three, sitting opposite one another. Evie found herself facing the rear of the vehicle, a young armed soldier on either side of her. She dropped her bag between her ankles and accepted assistance in putting on her safety harness. Barely looking at the soldiers, Evie held her tongue until one of them had placed a large pair of headphones over her head. She could probably have donned the headphones herself, but it would have been awkward and embarrassing had she tried it single-handed.

“I didn’t expect you to come, figured” she admitted freely, looking at the two women sitting opposite her.

“You’re a valuable asset,” Cassandra Pentaghast had not changed in the countless months since Evie had last set eyes on her. Short black hair and unreadable grey eyes, a slim, pointed face. Skin marred with battle scars, and a serious expression, but oh so familiar. Despite her restraints, Evie wanted to embrace the woman, to thank her for breaking the cycle of destruction she and Cullen had fallen into, but Cassandra had never been the hugging type, and her promotion to Lieutenant General had put her even further from casual interactions.

“You should have returned a month ago,” interjected the clipped French tones of the UK’s newest Deputy Chief of the Secret Intelligent Service. Evie let her gaze slide across the small cargo hold. Leliana Oisine had spent the majority of their past interactions in local dress; often covering her bright red hair, and disguising the curves of her body. It felt oddly intimate to see the woman neatly coiffured and sporting an expensive tailored blazer and trousers.

“I wasn’t intending on returning at all,” Evie admitted freely. “As soon as that bastard is behind bars or dead, that’s when I’m done.”

“As you wish,” Cassandra spoke, her words ruling out any further discussion for the time being. “Your quarters are being prepared for you. I shall arrange for someone to drop in this evening to get you set up.”

“In London?” Evie hazarded a guess.

“You didn’t read my email?” There was that oh so familiar arch of Cassandra’s eyebrow which meant she wasn’t impressed.

“I skimmed,” Evie admitted. “UK-based, translation, nothing front line, nothing near any people of interest, just me and some tapes or files, figuring out what they say.” ‘Skimmed’ was a slight understatement; she was going by the email header alone. The others knew she was lying, but had the grace not to call her on it.

“You’ll be in Gloucester,” Cassandra explained, with thinly veiled impatience. “Varric Tethras is heading a team at GCHQ. He reports to both Leliana and myself, you will work alongside him.” Evie gave a small nod; she had worked with Varric before, and should have guessed she would have been heading for the infamous doughnut-shaped building rather than summoned to MI6 headquarters.

“I do have one request,” she spoke up, aware that she wasn’t really in the position to make demands, but unwilling to leave it unsaid.

“Yes?” Cass queried, her eyebrow twitching once more.

“Cullen. I’d like it if you leave him out of this. Don’t try to recruit him, or anything. He’s done more than enough for this country.”

“We were interested in you,” Cass said dismissively. “Nether I, nor my team will go after him.”

“Thank you,” Evie gave a sigh, resting her head back in her seat without a care for the British landscape passing beneath her.

* * *

“I have a condition,” Cass had to give the man credit - he had held out for two months since she had welcomed Evelyn Trevelyan back into the fold. She had been true to her word and had stopped all recruitment work around Cullen Rutherford, so when he had called her looking for work she could honestly state it was not due to her persuasion.

“Yes?” she pressed, already knowing what the weathered soldier was going to say.

“I don’t want her to know I’m back. Send me wherever you have to, but not near her.” Cassandra inclined her head slightly, seeing no reason not to grant his terms.

“As you wish,” she demurred. “Her work is outside of your responsibilities, I can’t see any reason you would need to be in the same county, let alone the same building.”

“Good,” his voice sounded tired. Cass hesitated for a moment, wondering whether the soldier she had once known was still in there.

“Welcome back, Colonel Rutherford,” she declared, brushing aside her doubts. He wouldn’t be going back into the field immediately, his fitness could be assessed before any further decisions were made. “How soon can you be in Brecon?”


	2. New Normal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Galantine's Day 2021 <3

It was the third day of the UN congregation. There was some long official name for the gathering, but Evelyn Trevelyan and her fellow interpreters had started referring to it as ‘the conclave’. The interpretation booths were off to one side of the main hall; the white soundproof booths a stark contrast to the ancient cathedral hall they were operating within.  
“You coming to lunch?” The dulcet Welsh accent of Maxwell Lavellan, her co-pilot in the English translation booth, broke Evie from her daydreaming.  
“I’ll be there in a sec,” she gave lightly, realising that she was getting hungry. More importantly, she needed to find the toilets - she had been speaking all morning; translating the speakers’ words from Spanish, Italian, and German into English for her country’s delegates. So much talking required a lot of water to keep her going, and that meant she needed to wee. Again. In theory, she and Maxwell should have taken turns speaking and keeping a written record of the talks, but Maxwell had a faster typing speed, and her clipped English was clearer than his softer accent.  
The presentation room cleared slowly. Evie grabbed her handbag and joined the queues for the toilets. It was weird, she thought, that she was here - a language graduate who had moved around a bit and worked a serious of short-term contracts, rubbing shoulders almost literally with representatives of the most powerful nations of the world. She didn’t recognise many of them from their faces, but several of the names in her administration pack sounded familiar. The pay was good, which was the most important thing, and they had covered flights and accommodation, so Evie was being put up in a fairly decent hotel not too far from the venue. It was almost enough to persuade her to consider taking up a few more political gigs.  
Lunch was a buffet of many different foods and Evie delighted in filling her plate with a little of everything; a little seafood paella, a spoonful of a fruity couscous with lightly spiced lamb, some flatbread, and a salmon and cucumber sandwich. She wouldn’t be eating this well again for a while so it made sense to stock up.  
Maxwell had saved her a seat, along with some of the other translators. Evie smiled a warm greeting as she tucked in, hurrying to catch up. Malika, Herah, and Edric seemed as well-versed in global gatherings as Maxwell was, and they fell into a comfortable conversation which seemed to flow through several languages without a single pause or hesitation. Evie found herself joining in, not simply for the sake of conversation, but for the enjoyment of being involved. Talking across nationalities seemed almost like weaving together a song. For a long time Evie had thought to herself that certain phrases just sounded better in certain languages, and it delighted her to find that her fellow interpreters made the same linguistic choices as she did. The conversation lasted past the finishing of their food and onward as they moved to sit on the lawn beside the impressive old building. It was only when the bell indoor rang announcing that the conference was ready to reconvene, that they realised how long they had been.  
Evie’s return to the hall was hampered by the security officers who insisted on checking her bag before letting her back into the hall. Wincing at the prospect of being late back to her booth, Evie waved the others ahead. Maxwell would get on the microphone if he had to. A long moment passed before she was deemed safe and allowed back into the Conclave. Clutching her bag in her right hand, Evie hurried round the edge of the congregation. There was a low muttering across the various delegates and the lectern remained unmanned, suggesting that Evie hadn’t missed anything. She breathed a sigh of relief and continued circumnavigating the room.  
The noise started then. Evie had no idea what it was; a low buzzing that cut across the conversation around her. A diplomat shouted but his words were lost. Evie stopped, looking around in fear as suddenly two hundred people got to their feet in sheer panic. One nearby pointed upward and Evie raised her eyes to the ceiling. Half a dozen drones were circling around the chandeliers. At once the delegates surged toward the doors. Evie found herself unable to move, her eyes were fixed on the drones as, almost as one, they opened their payloads and dropped dozens of small round balls. Without thinking, Evie caught one in her free hand. Her fingers clasped around it whilst her eye was drawn to the ball that had landed heavily on the nearest table. It cracked as it landed, unfurling like a small flower, and emitting a puff of faint green gas. Evie opened her hand but it was too late, she could feel the small machine opening, the razor-sharp petals piercing into her skin. Immediately her hand went numb. Evie opened her mouth to scream, but any sound was drowned out as the drones moved towards the walls of the room, then promptly exploded, Evie felt her legs give way, and as she fell she watched the sparks and shards of plastic and metal fall from the ceiling like disappointing fireworks.

“You aren’t under arrest,” Cassandra had explained. Evie’s first few days at the Communications HQ had felt a little like it might be easier to have been arrested. Her bags had been searched multiple times, she had been patted down, had been scanned with a metal detector. A pair of dogs had been set upon her belongings, sniffing for drugs or explosives. Two uniformed officers had trailed her as she had followed Cassandra across an empty car park to a small block of flats. Her new apartment was on the third floor, and the guards were to be placed at her door and at the main door. Cassandra had suggested that they were for Evie’s protection, but there was enough tension in the small group that Evie knew she had several hurdles to jump before she regained any level of trust.

There had been the anticipated ‘debriefings’ in which she was asked the same questions in many different ways; did she know where Cullen was and what his intentions were? Did she know where Solas was, had she heard from him? They wanted to know her exact movements since she and Cullen had absconded, which had meant burning several safe houses. Evie knew better than to expect Cullen to revisit any of the places they had laid low together, but it still felt like a betrayal as she listed the history of their time together. The only details she kept to herself had been their intimacy, and the level of depression they had both reached. She supposed it wasn’t much of a secret that the two of them had been sharing a bed, but it wasn’t a matter of international security, and it was one of the only things of the past few years that Evie didn’t bitterly regret. Cullen was her the one thing she had been able to call her own, and she was keeping her memories of him for herself.

A week passed, and then another. Evie had been given a job and had found solace in the routine that came with it. The guard at her door had been withdrawn, and she suspected the guard in the foyer of the block of flats was always there. She hadn’t seen much of her neighbours, except for the occupants of the flat across the stairwell from her, but she had discovered that this was housing for less trustworthy assets, and she was far from the worst offender.

“You ready?” a knock on the door indicated another work week had begun. Evie straightened the hem of her government-issued polo shirt and picked up her keys from their place by the door.  
“Morning,” she greeted her neighbour and most-commonly assigned chaperone. It had been a moment of almost unbelievable relief when Evie had discovered that she was living opposite Marion Hawke and her husband. Their paths had crossed briefly during their days in the field, and although they had been some of the darkest times of Evie’s accidental military career, it was somewhat warming to have a familiar face around.  
“We need to get you something better to wear,” Hawke commented drily as they made their way down the stairs. “Has the top brass still not sorted out your reqs?” Evie gave a noncommittal grunt. She had filled out some requisition forms, but a part of her liked wearing the bog-standard pseudo-uniform. There were a few other people in the offices who often wore the plain blue polo, it gave her a false sense of belonging. Not that there were any other one-armed former saviours of the world turned disgraced runaways employed by the Special Communications department.  
“Dinner tonight?” Hawke asked as they entered the main building, pausing to press their passes to the sensor that called the lift.  
“That’d be nice,” Evie replied. In the darkness of night she had decided that it wasn’t a coincidence that she had been placed opposite Hawke, or that this friendship had been rekindled, but the stark facts were that she needed a cure for her loneliness more than her paranoia needed to be quelled, and so she had accepted every offer of camaraderie from the soldier and her very quiet husband. “I’d offer to bring a bottle but,” she gave a light shrug.

Evie was delivered to her desk. Hawke stayed only long enough to greet Varric Tethras, the leader of the taskforce Evie had been assigned to. Then Hawke was gone and the morning briefing started. It was all very hush hush - Evie had no real comprehension as to what world-ending calamity she was working to prevent, all she knew was that each day she was given an extensive list of words, locations, and names and an air-gapped laptop containing several thousand files she needed to check for even the barest hint of the key phrases. The files were a mix of formats; emails, message boards, scanned copies of handwritten notes, and they were in a wide number of languages. It was relentless work, but it made Evie feel alive - there was something cathartic in being put to something important, rather than stewing in solitude. The busier she was during the day, the longer she could hold out at night before the crushing loneliness hit her.  
“How’s it going, Evie?” Varric asked, Evie looked up from her screen and offered a smile at the swarthy red-head.  
“No big hitters so far,” she admitted freely. “Although if anyone reads Hausa, I’d appreciate a second opinion on a couple. It’s not one I’m that hot on.”  
“Cole might have an eye for it, set them aside and you can swap after lunch.” The department was a small subsection of the International Communications Directorate, and it hadn’t taken Evie too long to get to know the team. Varric was rough around the edges but ran the department well, and she had no doubts he would support his team in pretty much anything. The team consisted of two men; Cole, a gangly youth who spoke far too quietly for Evie’s liking, and who seemed to be constantly in his own world, and Dorian, a flamboyant, fashion-conscious man whose accent suggested he had moved around the Mediterranean coast, with hints of Italian, Turkish, and Greek depending on his mood. Not strictly part of the team, Josie Montilyet seemed to be one of Cassandra’s direct reports, but she attended a lot of the same meetings as Varric and they seemed to often work on related projects as far as Evie could tell.

As six o’clock rolled around, Evie finished a report on the files she had set aside for a second glance. Some were simply because they were written in a language she wasn’t completely fluent in and so she wasn’t confident enough to clear them, and others were very vaguely connected to the keywords or phrases they had been searching for and she wasn’t sure enough that they warranted flagging.  
“Varric,” she heard Hawke’s dry greeting.  
“Evening, Chuckles,” he returned. The two had worked together previously, that much Evie had discerned, although both parties remained tight-lipped on the specifics. Hawke and Varric shared a dark sense of humour, whilst not being particularly demonstrative when it came to feelings and emotions, so Evie struggled to decide whether the two were close friends or mortal enemies.

Hawke’s apartment was furnished a little less sparsely than Evie’s; there were pictures on the wall - a family of three dark haired children and their smiling parents who had to be Hawke’s relations as her husband Anders looked nothing like the group. The couple were welcoming, although Anders remained as quiet as he had been the previous times Evie had seen him in the corridors.  
“How was it?” Hawke asked as she dropped onto the sofa. “Save the world today?”  
“Probably,” Evie shrugged. “At least twice, I reckon. You?”  
“Yeah, for sure,” the woman sounded tired and world-weary despite being in her mid-to-late thirties and seemingly physically fit. Evie saw in Hawke the same soul-deep exhaustion that she felt in herself, and knew enough to be sure that they had both given more of themselves in the line of duty than they could have afforded. Silence fell for a moment as they settled, attempting to turn off the military parts of their minds. Evie dared close her eyes for a moment, casting her mind back to a time before Haven and that fateful conference. Long translation gigs had often ended up like this - returning home to a comfortable sofa and a conflict in her head as her brain worked to get back to its native language. At least the translations she was doing now were in a variety of language so that kept her mind darting about rather than getting too fixed on any one vernacular.  
“Once I spent a fortnight in Amsterdam, there was some sort of corporate conference going on and I spent the whole time just translating from Dutch to English. I got home and was thinking in Dutch for days afterwards,” she spoke aloud more to check her words came out in English, than to make conversation. Hawke was spared answering as Anders brought two large pizzas out from the kitchen.  
The three of them ate on the sofas, a light-hearted sitcom on the television covering the lack of conversation. Evie found herself noticing the little things that Hawke and Anders did for one another, the way their bodies seemed to fit perfectly next to one another as they sat together, her head on his shoulder. A pang of longing stabbed Evie in the chest as she thought of the empty apartment waiting for her.  
“I should get going,” she announced as an episode ended. “Thanks so much for dinner,” she gave genuinely.  
“Anytime,” Hawke saw her to the door. “I’ll be round at eight-thirty.”

Back in her own space, Evie undressed quickly and climbed into bed. The tears came with surprising intensity, shaking her body as she sobbed into her pillow. In such a short time her entire world had unravelled and she was now so far beyond having any control over what happened to her, it all felt unbearable. Despair and hopelessness washed over her until sleep claimed her with dreams of whirring drones and distant mocking laughter.


End file.
